Little Things
by WatchMeSoar
Summary: The nephews love their uncle, and Scrooge may or may not have forgotten what it was like, not being your own boss.


_**Might solve a mystery, or rewrite history!**_

 _ **DUCKFEELS! Woo-oo!**_

 **Honestly though, this family. I just. Donald tries so hard. The boys are unique and precious snowflakes. Scrooooge.**

 **III**

Scrooge wondered not for the first time whether he should be sleeping more at his age. But, even on this day, one on which he had little to do, he awoke to the summer sun streaming through his tall window. Not being one to laze about once awake, he donned his lounge jacket and made the long walk to the kitchen. He was only slightly surprised when he saw that Huey had beat him there.

The little duckling stood on a stool at the island, whisk in hand and a large glass bowl hugged against his chest. Huey looked over his shoulder and gave a smile. "Good morning, Uncle Scrooge," he said.

"Morning, lad," Scrooge replied. "What are you up to this early?"

"I thought I'd make breakfast casserole. I wanted it down before Uncle Donald got home."

Ah. Donald had, since coming to live at the mansion, found himself a couple of odd jobs. Currently, he had a part-time loading/unloading job down at the harbor. It paid decently, but it kept Donald out from four in the morning until after eight, getting him home by about eight thirty in the morning. The man came home, downed a pot of coffee, showered off the smell of fish, and then went about his day spending time with his family. Though, Scrooge, knew, he was currently looking for a second job.

Huey's voice startled him out of his thoughts, "Erm, I hope you don't mind me using your kitchen…"

Scrooge waved a hand dismissively, "Not at all, lad, I think that's a grand idea."

Huey smiled and went back to whisking his egg concoction. Scrooge put on a pot of coffee, resigning himself to watching his great nephew attempt to cook—something Scrooge had learned that he enjoyed, but wasn't particularly gifted at. But he was getting better. Scrooge admired the boy's persistence.

After a bout of companionable silence, Scrooge ventured to ask something he'd been hesitant to bring up. "…How is he? Your uncle, I mean."

Huey paused in sprinkling cheese into the bowl and looked at Scrooge, surprised. "Um…" he scrunched up his face. "Yeah, I guess. I mean he's just…the same as always."

Scrooge ignored the pit forming in his gut. "Does he do this sort of work often?"

"There's nothing wrong with that kind of work."

Ouch. Scrooge hadn't meant that. "Of course not."

"And well, he kind of does everything. Anything. It can be, um. It can be kind of hard for him to hold down a job."

"His temper?" Huey refocused on his task, heating up a pan on the stove for hash browns. The sizzle of the pan forced him to raise his voice, though he still spoke cautiously. "Sometimes," he said. "Sometimes the work is just temporary, sometimes it's just because he's the junior employee, and when the company cuts, he's the first one to go. It's not his fault."

"Of course it isn't," Scrooge was quick to validate that. Temper aside, Donald was a hard worker and a fast learner. And, also, the victim of many unfortunate circumstances.

Huey was, at the moment, soaking the hash browns oil and somehow also burning the edges black. Scrooge stood and and came up behind him. "Give me the spatula, lad. Go add a pinch of garlic salt to those eggs."

"Yes, Uncle Scrooge." Huey hopped off the stool and dragged it back over to the island. "…Do _you_ think he's doing okay, Uncle Scrooge?"

Oh, Scrooge wished he could answer that with any sort of confidence. "Your uncle's done just fine for himself," he said, and believed. "He's given his best and that's all anyone can do." He finished up the hash browns and spread them over the bottom of a rectangle pan, and Huey poured the egg mixture over the top of it.

Once it was in the oven, and they were sat at the small in-kitchen table with a mug of coffee in Scrooge's hand and a glass of orange juice in Huey's, Scrooge dared to bring up the subject yet again. "Huey, I hate to ask, but…does your uncle ever say anything to you? About money?"

Huey thoughtfully shook his head. "Not in so many words. Sometimes he just hints at it, I guess. Like, when we used to ask to go to the zoo or we wanted a new toy, and he'd look all sad and tell us that maybe we'd get it for Christmas or something."

Scrooge tried his hardest not to think about Donald trying to hide his family's financial situation from his kids, nor of the triplets policing themselves once they figured it out. "He didn't want you lads to worry."

"Yeah," Huey said. "Louie hasn't ever been very bothered, and I don't think Dewey can focus long enough to really think about it, but…I don't know. I like to help in any way I can."

"Like handling breakfast."

"Yeah." Huey took a long sip of orange juice, and Scrooge almost chuckled at how much like an adult he looked then. "Maybe I could get a job."

Scrooge was startled. "Lad, you're twelve."

"I know," Huey sighed. "But I could get a paper route or something. Or shine shoes. You did that, right? Do people still get their shoes shined?"

"Now hold on," Scrooge held up a hand. "Have you brought this up with your uncle?"

"No. I have a feeling I know where that conversation would go."

The ensuing silence was not quite tense, but it was charged with something they both felt but couldn't place. Finally, Scrooge spoke. "Huey, lad…I had to grow up rather quickly. Honestly, Donald did as well. Try to enjoy your childhood, will you? It's quite a gift."

Huey looked up at his uncle, who was smiling kindly. He nodded. "I…alright, Uncle Scrooge."

"GOOOOOD MORNING!" Dewey burst through the kitchen's double doors and slid in on his knees. "I smell food."

"Good morning, Dewey. It's not down yet."

"Well good thing I woke up anyway, you forgot the bacon." And Dewey then proceeded to somehow make a mess of the kitchen before even putting the bacon on the skillet. Scrooge only rolled his eyes. The timer went off then, and Huey and Dewey scuffled for space near the oven as the eldest triplet went again to the stove.

Right on cue, the distant echo of the front door opening and closing made them turn their heads. Donald was home, and Scrooge knew he would be heading straight to the kitchen for coffee. Dewey, not willing to wait until his uncle was actually in the room, shouted again: "HELLO, UNCLE DONALD!"

The duck in question pushed through the doors moments later, eyebrow raised and stifling a smirk. "Hello, Dewey," he said. He glanced at Huey and Scrooge. "Morning."

"Breakfast is ready, Uncle Donald," Huey said, and carried a stack of plates to the counter.

"Breakfast is _almost_ ready," Dewey countered. "Junior Nerdchuck forgot the bacon."

"You don't _need_ bacon."

"Take that back!"

Donald snorted and walked passed them. "It smells great, boys, thank you." He eyes the full coffee pot and glanced at Scrooge. "Don't mind me stealing your brew?"

"Its' all yours," Scrooge said. He watched as Donald poured a steaming hot mug and proceeded to gulp down the scalding mixture black. "I do own milk and sugar, lad."

"Honestly, at this point, I don't know if I'd be able to taste the difference."

"Hey Uncle Donald," Dewey said, "mind pouring me some of that?"

"Dewford, the last thing you need is coffee."

"Yeah, _Dewford._ "

"I didn't ask you, _Hubert._ "

"Boys."

"Sorry, Uncle Donald."

Scrooge chuckled at the scene. He stood and joined his family at the counter. "Alright, then. Time to plate up?"

Donald had seen Webby practicing Judo on the lawn, and went back out front to call her in for breakfast. Mrs. Beakley graciously refused, already set about her chores.

Louie joined them when most were through with eating but still at the table chatting. Scrooge, who had grown painfully used to a silent breakfast, was almost overwhelmed by the volume these children could reach. It was impressive, really.

At length, Donald stood, gulping down the last bit of his third mug of coffee. "Alright," he said, "I need to shower. Thanks for breakfast, boys." He pat Huey's shoulder and left the table, putting his plate in the sink. Before he should reach the door, Scrooge had a thought.

"Donald," he said. When Donald looked back at him, Scrooge continued. "Have you any plans for the day?"

Don thought a moment. "Not really. I thought I might go job hunting."

 _Nuts to that_ , Scrooge thought. "I thought perhaps the lads would enjoy a trip to the zoo."

The boys gasped in excitement, and Dewey asked, "Webby, too?"

"Why, of course."

Webby squealed happily, but Donald looked a little lost. "I can't—"

"My treat."

It was somewhere between amusing and alarming, the expression of shock on Don's face. Scrooge clapped once to gain everyone's attention (and hopefully startle Donald out of his funk). "Now. Everyone go shower, brush your teeth. Huey, pack some snacks. We'll make a day of it."

The kids rushed out of the kitchen to do as told. Donald looked confused, and a tiny bit suspicious. Scrooge could almost pretend not to be hurt by that. Nonetheless, it was obvious that his nephew wanted some kind of answer.

"You've raised them well."

Donald's raised eyebrow told him that that only brought more questions rather than answers, but Don seemed to let it go. "So," he said, as they both walked out of the kitchen, "the zoo, huh? That's not particularly adventurous."

Scrooge smiled just barely at the sound of little feet running through the hallway overhead. "There are many kinds of adventures, my boy."


End file.
